


A Responsibility and a Privilege

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't think he'll ever get used to telling family members that their loved one has passed away. Merlin's just glad that Harry's still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Responsibility and a Privilege

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this under the impression that Eggsy's dad was still in training to become a Kingsman, but now I'm not sure D: I also don't know his first name! Once I get my hands on a copy, I will make the appropriate changes if needed. But for now, enjoy the story :)

It’s been five years since taking on the name of Galahad, and while Harry can face crime syndicates, terrorists, and psychopaths without batting an eye, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to telling family members that their loved one has passed away. Passed away. Such a gentle combination of words that does nothing to express the horrible, unjust deaths that take place in their line of work, like the premature death of agent Unwin. Or at least he could have been an agent—a Kingsman—were it not for the unexpected incident.

Harry frowns. The explosion from the concealed grenade and what followed after is still fresh in his memory: Unwin lying prostrate, unmoving, over the enemy’s cold body. It should have been his body. He should have been the one to die. After all, he was the one who had overlooked a minute, yet important detail.

Outside, pale yellow streetlights, grey concrete and bare trees come together in an ethereal blur of colours until the car finally comes to a stop.

“Galahad. Should you wish—”

“It’s alright, Merlin.” He offers a tired smile to his trusted friend and colleague, sitting across from him in the backseat. “This is my responsibility.” After a moment’s pause, he adds quietly, “And my privilege.”

Agent Unwin’s death was one of honour, bravery, and selflessness, and his loss most deserving of recognition—recognition that cannot be afforded, not when their work deals with sensitive matters concerning both national and international security. Understandably, it is imperative that all branches of the agency operate at the highest level of discretion, even in matters of death. It is regretful, but informing the Unwin family of his death is all he can do.

“Very well. I will wait here.”

“Thank you.”

Harry retrieves his umbrella from the floor of the car. Most days it is easy to carry, but today it is heavy with the weight of responsibility and duty—a reminder of who he is, and what he does. What the _Kingsmen_ do.

The light at the front of the flat casts a welcoming glow on the door, as if the people inside are waiting, waiting…

Harry shifts the umbrella to the crook of his arm, freeing up his hands so he can smooth down the front of his suit. Satisfied, he knocks.

His hand is still raised, ready to knock again when he hears footsteps and the jangling of keys. “Coming!” a woman’s voice calls out. Moments later, the door swings open, and a woman in her thirties stands in the doorway. “How may I help you?”

Behind her, Harry can see a framed family photo hanging on the wall. Three smiling faces look back at him. In the corner, a Christmas tree decorated with red and gold stands tall, illuminated.

Unwin’s wife and son had expected him home for Christmas.

Harry swallows thickly. “Mrs Unwin, my apologies for interrupting your evening. However, I have some very important news regarding your husband.”

 

* * *

 

“That was—quick,” Merlin observes, watching Harry climb into the backseat. He leans forward and murmurs something to their driver, and then the privacy screen slides up with a gentle whirr and the car begins to move.

“Indeed.”

“Did you give them the medal?”

Harry shakes his head. “The wife wouldn’t accept it. I gave it to the son.” He sinks back further into the backseat of the car, tipping his head back onto the leather upholstery and closing his eyes without bothering to remove the agency’s standard-issue glasses. “Bloody hell, Merlin. His son—his son was so young.”

Merlin remains silent, save for a low murmur indicating his acknowledgement. As the sergeant major of Kingsman, not only is he in charge of training candidates aiming for the position of Lancelot, but his role also encompasses vetting the candidates as part of gauging their suitability for the job. He had known of Unwin’s family; he’d even seen pictures of them. And Unwin had always sounded so proud when talking to the other candidates about his son…

“Drink?” Merlin asks in hushed tones, finally breaking the long stretch of quiet.

An open bottle of 1815 Napoleonic brandy is tucked away in the inset drinks compartment, next to two recently used glasses. Arthur had no intention of pulling out the traditional drink for the Kingsmen to toast in honour of Unwin’s death, so Harry had procured a bottle and shared a drink with Merlin on the way to the Unwin household.

“Mmm. Not now.” Harry cracks an eye open and turns his head towards Merlin, considering, then shuffles across the seat until their thighs are almost touching. “Can I just—I know you don’t really _do_ physical, but—”

The moment Merlin feels the weight of Harry’s head resting on his shoulder is the very moment Merlin feels everything he’s been holding inside of him unravel.

“Dammit, Harry,” he hisses. With a bit of jostling, Merlin outstretches his arm, wrapping it around Harry’s shoulder and drawing him nearer—near enough for each other’s warmth to be felt through their layers of clothing. “It could have been you!” Merlin’s voice cracks at the end, and when his hand finds Harry’s, he grips it tight and whispers fiercely, “I’m glad you’re here, Harry.”

“As am I.” Harry brings his free hand over to rest on top of their joined hands. As he starts rubbing small circles on the base of Merlin’s thumb, an aggrieved expression clouds his face. “But at what cost?” In a more subdued voice, he repeats, “At what cost, Merlin?”

“The loss of Unwin’s life is regrettable, but if anyone can make his sacrifice mean something, it’s you.” 

Harry closes his eyes, letting Merlin’s reassurance and belief in him wash over him. With every breath, he can smell the faint scent of Merlin’s aftershave, and for the first time since Unwin’s death, he feels calm. He opens his eyes again, and with a crooked smile, he says, “I hope so, Merlin. I really hope so.” 


End file.
